


Holly Jolly

by NoelleAngelFyre



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: Burl Ives, F/M, Mistletoe, Shameless bit of Christmas fluff, holly jolly christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: When all was said and done, it was somehow all worth it.





	Holly Jolly

**Author's Note:**

> Starting off my favorite time of year with an old yuletide piece (originally posted on ff.net). As the tags say, this is just a shameless bit of Christmas fluff and romance. Can be considered a side-dish to my "Real Life Fairytale" series, just set a few years in the future.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the idea.
> 
>  
> 
> **Merry Christmas!!!**

When it was all said and done, he couldn't help but feel it had somehow, some strange way, all been worth it.

An invitation to meet the Possible family had been…unexpected, to put it mildly. So much so that his initial response was to offer any number of excuses and find some way to escape an offer which, to be honest, felt more like a demand than a request. Surely he could find another tradition to appease his lady than to be dragged back into civilization and engage in affairs for which he had no interest and even less desire to participate.

But Kimberly's eyes were large and pleading, and her lip quivered in that infernal pout which managed to ruin even his most convicted refusal. He greatly suspected she'd known perfectly-well he was incapable of denying her; the satisfied smile given upon his reluctant agreement only solidified the suspicion.

So here he was: dressed warmly in clothes far more suited for the formalities of his homeland's fancy Christmas affairs than a small family gathering in the living room. He felt sorely out of place from the first moment stepping over the threshold, right into the company of adults and teenagers alike—all donning Christmas sweaters and comfortable slacks. The crisply starched black trousers and cream-toned shirt, complete with a deep red belt to accommodate the season's obligatory colors, were the source of great fascination. The inane curiosity for which the twins were infamous (known to him through Kimberly’s spoken tales), including his insistence on wearing gloves in the house, was making him incredibly uncomfortable.

And then Kimberly appeared from around the corner, and all discomfort melted away (if the romanticized portrayal might be pardoned) like snow beneath a warm sun.

She was a vision: clad in the emerald green which complimented her eyes so well, with a delicate ivory accent around bodice and waist; gold jewelry to match the color dusted across her eyelids and soft pink shimmered on her lips; a final touch, the poinsettia mounted at her right hip, created an embodiment of festive elegance.

The only sign of shyness was a slight indent of teeth into the soft swell of her lower lip as she spun in place, granting him full excess to her appearance. Blue eyes took it in with slow relish, savoring every glimpse of bare skin, warm and soft and brushed with years of sunlight.

As she finished twirling in place, he wasted no time and took her hand to his lips. Eyes never breaking from hers, he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. "You are exquisite."

A distinct blush crept along her cheeks. "You cleaned up nicely, my lord." She murmured, seemingly unable to stop smiling. The radiance of her smile sent a warm tremor up his spine; a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but did not yet unfurl. It simply won’t do for her to unravel him so early in the evening. There were many hours yet ahead, after all; she had all night to earn an expression of unbridled delight otherwise seen by no one.

"So," he said at length, offering her his arm and smiling all the more when she responded with the airy little giggle of which he was (not-so) secretly fond, and linked their arms for the short walk from entryway to den, "what, pray tell, have you told your family about our…relationship?"

(At her present age of twenty-three, the age difference is no longer the most scandalous detail to be considered. It’s everything that came before which might pose an issue and ruin a respectable holiday celebration.)

"You are Lord Montgomery Fiske: my distinguished and scholarly mentor from England, who has been tutoring me in everything from culture and history, as well as a world-renowned explorer who shares my love of traveling." Kimberly winked slyly, "None of which, I might add, is false."

"No," he agreed, "but you've left out quite a bit of our history."

"Details." She shrugged with a dismissive wave. "I doubt my father will relate you, the refined foreigner, with the deranged monkey-man who tried to sabotage his space center."

Blue eyes turned sharply, affronted and appalled. "Deranged?" he repeated, with no small offense taken, "Is that really what he called me?"

Kimberly giggled again, this time (no doubt) at the horrified expression on his face. "You must admit," she teased, nudging him slightly, "you didn't give the best first impression."

"Certainly it was not a cordial encounter," he sniffed, her jest not a soothing balm over his wound, "but hardly worthy of such _insulting_ description."

Unfazed by his little display, she shook her head before resting it on a familiar perch: his shoulder, "Then perhaps this is time for you to try for a different impression, hmm?"

He scowled, but it was short-lived. A sharp left turn entered them both into the living room, where all remaining family members were gathered and, as made apparent by the rapid turning of five heads, awaiting them expectantly.

Already knowing there was little alternative, the English lord quickly produced his most dignified smile, the charm of his youth making a rapid trek to the surface for a second first impression.

***

Kimberly released a very happy, very satisfied, sigh as she tiptoed away from the corner. Ten minutes of eavesdropping, and she knows this evening has been a success. Monty's charm had done wonders: her mother and grandmother were cheerily gossiping about his debonair mannerisms and, if she wasn't mistaken, his noteworthy looks and charm; her father had made several comments about a _clearly refined upbringing_ and _a positive influence for Kimmy_ —because, naturally, no growing up on her part could ever rid her of that nickname.

Overall, it felt like a victory. She quietly entertained a twinge of regret about how much explaining she would have to offer, should the truth ever come out, and what excuse she might offer Ron when he returned from out-of-state Hanukkah celebrations, before deciding that living in the present and not an uncertain future was the ideal route to take.

She found Monty in the front room, standing with gloved hands folded behind his back as he examined the brightly-lit Christmas tree. He'd abandoned some of his earlier refinement, rolling up his sleeves and undoing a few of his shirt buttons. She liked him this way; it was more familiar to see him relaxed and at ease, even if in clothing that he rarely, if ever, wore.

But there was the matter of his gloves that irritated her. Naturally, there was a reason for wearing them outside of his home, but she was far too accustomed to being able to touch him and entwine their fingers without a cloth obstruction.

Throwing caution to the wind, she slipped up behind him and captured both hands. He didn't seem surprised, only titled his head slightly to observe her over one shoulder while she peeled away the gloves. When the final inch of black cloth was gone, he reversed the grip and pulled her to his chest.

"Ever impatient." He scolded lightly, "We really must work no this unfortunate trait of yours, Kimberly."

"I eagerly await that lesson." She smirked, sliding her slender digits between broad and rough fingers. His other hand found its way to curl around her hip, holding her in a dancer's pose.

"A dance?" he inquired with a playful tilt of the head, “The festivities demand it.”

She giggled and nodded with a half-curtsy. "A pleasure, my lord," Kimberly murmured, letting him take the lead and spin her around the room.

Earlier, the floor had been cluttered with destroyed wrappings and strewn ribbons, but it had since been cleared and now allowed for free, unrestrained movement. There was no elaborate orchestra, as he recalled from Christmas parties and holiday gatherings back home in his younger days, but the cheerful outpouring of music from the stereo set the mood for their impromptu dance just fine. He wasn't familiar with the particular song, but it was lively and sufficed for its purpose.

"So, Lord Fiske," Kimberly asked, eyes shining with delight as he spun her out, "was this as terrible as you'd thought?"

"Hmm," he pondered, smiling confidently as he pulled her back to his chest, "not _quite_ terrible, actually."

His eyes lifted to the ceiling, and out of curiosity she followed his gaze to the fresh spring of mistletoe suspended above, complete with a little red bow secured tight in place. Its placement was innocent enough, but she couldn't help suspect he was guilty of planning this from the first step of their dance.

Looking back into his sharp blue eyes, glimmering with a mischievous grin, she knew she was right.

But as he slowly dipped her down, one arm tight around her waist, the other clasping her hand with fingers entwined, and met her lips with his, she couldn't help but feel it was all worth it.


End file.
